


Alright

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Sera shifted, her head aching, and she groaned, kicking out with one foot. A strong hand clasped loosely around her knees, and she heard a voice rumble, “Stop it, you daft bitch. Stay still.” Her head was still spinning.“I’m not daft,” Sera complained, opening her eyes and then wincing, because it was way too bright. She shoved her face into the leather chest piece of Blackwall’s jerkin, and she felt her stomach give an unpleasant lurch. Last night was a mess of hazy memories, and she remembered sitting under the table when everyone was playing cards, she remembered the taste of hot whiskey when Dorian had shared his, and she remembered Solas folding at one point and then getting annoyed when Sera laughed at him. “D’I fall asleep? It’s daytime.”





	Alright

Sera shifted, her head aching, and she groaned, kicking out with one foot. A strong hand clasped loosely around her knees, and she heard a voice rumble, “Stop it, you daft bitch. Stay still.” Her head was still spinning.

“I’m not _daft_,” Sera complained, opening her eyes and then wincing, because it was way too bright. She shoved her face into the leather chest piece of Blackwall’s jerkin, and she felt her stomach give an unpleasant lurch. Last night was a mess of hazy memories, and she remembered sitting under the table when everyone was playing cards, she remembered the taste of hot whiskey when Dorian had shared his, and she remembered Solas folding at one point and then getting annoyed when Sera laughed at him. “D’I fall asleep? It’s _daytime_.”

“We played past dawn,” Blackwall said, and Sera pressed her lips together, clumsily reaching to grab for some of the lacing on the front of his chest and tangling her fingers in the strings, as if the grip would give her any additional purchase. Not that he’d drop her. She knew he wouldn’t drop her, even if she _did_ struggle and shout a bit.

The tavern was quiet when Blackwall brought her through the doors – some of the chairs were up on tables, and one of the girls was sweeping the floors, Cabot nowhere to be seen, because the grumpy bastard slept from about 5 bells to 12.

“D’you win?” Sera asked. “Funny name, Wicked Grace. S’like. Wha’s it _mean_, y’know?”

“Vices and virtues, love, that’s what the game’s about,” Blackwall said. “I did alright. Not a big win, but no big losses.”

Sera didn’t like card games. Too much counting, and everyone said it wasn’t about the counting, but how were you supposed to do it _without_ counting, when you knew how many cards were in the deck, and you could work out who had what just based on that? How were you supposed to _escape_ the maths in your head, when it danced around by itself, and stopped you having a laugh? She’d muttered this to Blackwall once, then regretted it in case he asked her lots of stupid questions about it, but he’d only laughed and patted her back and said he’d not force her to play if she didn’t want to.

He was alright, Blackwall.

She groaned as he brought her up the stairs, pressing her face harder against his neck to try to stop everything from swaying so hard, and when he brought her into her room, he set her down real gentle on the nest of blankets on her window seat before reaching for a skein of water at his belt, making her drink.

Sera tried to pull her face away, but he clapped her upside the head – not hard, not enough to hurt even a little, just enough to make her head lurch unpleasantly and the floors roil underneath her like she was on a boat, and she grunted and took the water. Her mouth was dry, but she only realised that when she drank, and she swallowed down nearly the whole thing.

“Good lass,” Blackwall murmured, and she squinted at him in the dark of her room, which was painted red because of the sun coming in through the red curtains. He was unlacing her boots, putting them neatly by the door.

“I’m not your daughter, y’know,” she said, with more scorn than she meant to, but then she decided to double down, because her cheeks felt hot and it was embarrassing and she hated it when people saw her blush. “And Creepy in’t your son, neither.”

“I know,” Blackwall said. He didn’t flinch, even when she tried to kick him in the shoulder, just caught her ankle and pushed it under the blankets, and she fell back on the cushion, scowling at him, her hand gripping tightly at the neck of the skein. He met her gaze, gave her the gentle smile that always made her feel disarmed and sort of uncomfortable, her stomach doing unsteady flips. “Couldn’t be that lucky, could I?”

She felt awful, all of a sudden, like crying, her eyes all thick and heavy-like, and she threw the skein at him, turning to face the wall and dragging a blanket over her shoulder, letting out an annoyed groan when it got tangled around her hip and didn’t cover up anything else. Blackwall pulled the duvet out from one of the shelves and chucked it over her, and she gripped at it tightly, squeezing her eyes as close shut as she could so that they wouldn’t burst and leak everywhere, all hot tears.

“Prick,” she muttered, and she heard him leave.

She wouldn’t cry. She _wouldn’t_. Bastard_. _She wouldn’t feel bad, not for saying it, because she hadn’t ever had a father, not at all, and she wouldn’t want one anyway, not a big beardy prick who made rocking horses and carried her around, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, she was too old and he was a dickhead, anyway, and she _wouldn’t_ cry.

Her cheeks felt wet.

\--

She stalked up to Blackwall the next morning, head throbbing but not as much as it would be if he hadn’t made her drink water, and he glanced away from his conversation with Cassandra and Solas, spreading his hands a little like he expected her to hit him, but she threw her arms around his chest and hugged him once, tightly.

“Oh, Sera,” Blackwall said. “You alr—”

“Fuck off!” Sera said, shoving him in the chest, and she stalked off, her cheeks hot, the tips of her ears hot too. If Creepy got within even ten _feet_ of her today, she’d throw a rock at his stupid hat.

“What was that about?” she heard Cassandra ask, but Blackwall just laughed, softly, and shook his head. She saw it in the window of the kitchens as she passed it by. The smile lingered on his mouth.

She was frightened he’d bring it up, later, but he didn’t.

Sound bloke, that Blackwall. He was alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq). I also run a no-drama Dragon Age Discord, which [you can join here.](https://discordapp.com/invite/ttgP5v8) Please comment if you can!


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